Chapter 6
Peaceful days went by.
When told to bring a doctor’s note, Gong Seok-hyeon simply replied with his resignation.
Apparently, he didn’t have the guts to forge one — splints could be managed, but falsifying medical records was a different beast.
And so, peace returned.
Though, even within that peace, nuisances found their way in.
For instance—
“Please, just play the piano once!”
Students’ requests never ceased.
Or the parents:
“Teacher, do you take private lessons? My kid’s got college auditions next year. We’re not even aiming for Eastman, just K-ARTS…”
As if Korea National University of Arts were some local convenience store.
Even K-ARTS was filled with prodigies. Even Lim Yoon-chan — that once-in-a-generation genius — came from there.
“Yes, I’ll get back to you.”
He hung up, fatigue painting his face.
“I should probably change my number…”
“Another parent call?”
Yoon Ah-young approached with two cups of coffee. He instinctively reached out, assuming one was for him.
“That’s for the director.”
“…Ah.”
Awkward, he withdrew his hand. Ah-young laughed softly, passing him the cup anyway.
“I’m kidding. Here.”
“Thanks.”
“Why not just ignore the calls?”
“Then they’ll just ring the academy directly.”
“Right.”
She blew on her coffee before sitting beside him.
“You’re not interested in competitions or performances? Someone like you could pick whichever ensemble you wanted.”
“Me? A performance team? Come on. Competitions are—”
Bzzz—
His phone vibrated again. With a long sigh, he lifted it. Ah-young smiled encouragingly.
“Fighting!”
He looked at the screen, weary. Another unknown number.
“Hello?”
— “Hello, Teacher. This is So-eun’s mother — we met at the concert last time. How have you been?”
“Ah, Mrs. Ko! My apologies, I’ve been swamped lately…”
— “I figured as much. If you’re free today, could we meet for a bit?”
“Of course.”
< 006 >
Late evening — a café near the academy.
When he stepped inside, he immediately spotted a familiar face.
Go Ye-rim sat in the corner, sipping coffee, expression calm and distant.
He hurried over and bowed politely.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
“Sorry for calling you out so late.”
There was something different about meeting her — a former pianist herself — compared to other parents.
Something more formal, more tense.
“You said you had something to ask about So-eun?”
“Did you know I used to be a pianist?”
“Yes, the director mentioned it.”
“Then I suppose this will be quick.”
She set her cup down gently.
“Does my daughter have talent?”
“That’s…”
He’d expected the question — and yet the answer wasn’t any easier to give.
She, of all people, must already know. Once hailed as a prodigy herself, Go Ye-rim didn’t need anyone to tell her whether her child had it or not.
So why ask?
After a long pause, he finally said:
“At Eastman, you meet every kind of genius imaginable. Kids who can replicate anything after hearing it once. Monsters who improvise mid-performance…”
“I can imagine.”
“They all got expelled.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“Their problem was— they couldn’t sit still.”
“…Pardon?”
“A true pianist is simply someone who stays seated the longest. I’m sure you understand that better than anyone, ma’am.”
Ye-rim nodded quietly.
Was Choi So-eun talented?
He still didn’t have a definitive answer.
But there was one thing he knew for certain:
“So-eun is the one student who stays at the piano the longest.”
“You may think differently, but… yes, I believe she’s talented.”
“…I see.”
Her expression gave nothing away. A few minutes of silence passed before she reached into her bag.
“Ah, I nearly forgot to give you this.”
She handed him an elegant invitation.
“There’s an event hosted by the Cultural Arts Foundation soon. Many renowned pianists will attend — you should come if you can.”
“Me? To something like this?”
Ye-rim smiled faintly.
“It could be a good opportunity for you. I heard even Yang Se-jin will be there.”
“Se-jin?!”
He jerked upright, startling her.
“You know him?”
“We were dorm roommates in college. Though I doubt he remembers me now…”
“The more I hear, the more impressive you become.”
Embarrassed, he looked away. She rose gracefully, bowing.
“Thank you for your time tonight, Teacher.”
That evening, he lay in bed, staring at the invitation.
“…Should I even go?”
It was obvious from the paper’s texture — a gathering for real pianists.
Not small-town instructors who taught scales for a living.
“Yeah… I probably don’t belong there.”
And yet, no matter how many times he told himself that, her last words echoed again—
‘I heard even Yang Se-jin will be there.’
That name—
Always lit something in him.
They’d lost touch after graduation, but every bright moment in his youth had carried Yang Se-jin’s laughter somewhere within it.
After a long struggle, he turned over.
“I’ll just stop by for a bit. Say hi, then leave.”
A hectic week flew by.
Since the recital, student enrollment at the academy had soared, putting a permanent smile on Director Kang Mi-ryeo’s face.
As for him— he was dying of exhaustion.
Late afternoon, practice room.
He pounded the keys with every ounce of strength left.
It had been nearly a month since he began practicing Liszt’s Transcendental Études, and his coordination with his right hand had improved.
No. 10 — Passion’.
A fitting name — one that made you want to curse with every page.
The beginning was hell, the middle worse, and by the finale, the human mind could barely keep up.
Thung—!
Sweat dripped down his face as he struck the final chord.
Silence.
He glanced sideways, instinctively — to his right hand.
Had he ever played all the way through without making a mistake? Usually, he’d mess up mid-way and take a hit for it.
The silence lingered.
He couldn’t resist.
“Well? Still terrible?”
The right hand calmly picked up a pen.
【Not bad.】
“Uwah!”
He yelped, jumping in surprise. The hand smacked his thigh lightly — don’t be so dramatic.
【Next piece.】
The next evening — 7 p.m.
Straightening his tie, he faced the mirror.
“Didn’t think I’d wear a suit again outside a funeral…”
He’d greet Se-jin, exchange a few words, and slip out quietly. Who knew when he’d get the chance again?
When he stepped outside, Ko Ye-rim was already there.
“Good evening, ma’am.”
“Didn’t recognize you in a suit.”
“Ha, thank you.”
She gestured toward the man beside her.
“This is my husband.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Choi Jeong-guk. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Pleasure, sir. Kim Do-yoon.”
“So-eun’s been learning a lot from you, I hear. I should’ve come by to thank you sooner, ha ha.”
Jeong-guk’s laugh was warm, disarming.
He’d expected someone strict, but the man felt like the kind of friendly neighbor who lent you sugar.
“Let’s go, then.”
Throughout the drive, Jeong-guk remained soft-spoken.
“What time will it end?”
“Probably around midnight.”
“I’ll wait out front. Call me when you’re done.”
“And you?”
“I’ll find a café and read. Haven’t had a quiet night in ages.”
“Honestly.”
Ye-rim smiled, shaking her head.
A man who read for leisure. He almost felt like a myth come to life — that gentle, intellectual husband you only see in dramas.
The car glided along to the tune of classical music, arriving in Seoul just past six.
Jeong-guk hugged his wife briefly before she stepped out.
“Have fun.”
“You’re doing this in front of my teacher…”
“Ah— sorry!”
“No, no! You two look great together!”
He laughed awkwardly, turning away.
The venue was already packed.
Were there really this many pianists in Korea?
Ye-rim leaned in, explaining:
“Many orchestra representatives too.”
“Ah.”
“And— see that grand piano in the center?”
“Yes?”
“Try not to go near it unless you must.”
“…Is it haunted?”
“Hardly.”
She chuckled.
“It’s open for free performance, but… these people can be quite judgmental. I know your skill, Teacher Kim, but not everyone listens with goodwill.”
“I understand.”
Indeed, no one here would applaud a nameless instructor from some small-town academy. If they didn’t outright ignore him, that’d be miracle enough.
He was just about to step further in when a familiar voice called out:
“Sunbae-nim! Long time no see!”
Lee Seong-jin — the young man who’d placed third in the Chopin Competition.
“How’s So-eun adjusting? I was so surprised when she said she was moving!”
“She’s doing fine. You gave her a solid foundation.”
“Oh, I barely did anything. She’s the one who worked hard.”
Apparently, he’d been her previous teacher in Seoul. No wonder her fundamentals were flawless.
As they chatted, Seong-jin’s gaze dropped to Do-yoon’s hands. He took them gently, studying them.
“Beautiful hands.”
“Ah… thank you.”
“I was worried she’d be learning from some hack, but that’s clearly not the case.”
Do-yoon chuckled awkwardly and withdrew his hand. Up close, Seong-jin was less solemn than he’d seemed on stage — more playful, even.
The event flowed on under hushed refinement.
Everyone seemed to know everyone.
Except him.
He drifted from group to group, belonging nowhere.
“…Did Se-jin not come after all?”
Lost and restless, he eventually escaped toward the restroom.
After all, he’d come for Yang Se-jin, and now it felt like he’d met everyone but him.
He washed his hands, ready to leave—then sighed.
“…Maybe I’ll rest a bit first.”
He stepped into a stall and sat down, exhausted. He hadn’t done anything but walk, yet he felt drained.
Click.
The door opened, voices spilling in.
He glanced up absently — in dramas, this was usually when people started gossiping—
“Why is Go Ye-rim here again?”
…And sure enough, they did.
